Repetition in Living Forever
by American463
Summary: Alfred F Jones and Arthur Kirkland live through Human History.
1. Prolouge

Author's Note:

Feel free to correct me if I'm historically inaccurate whenever I'm just wrong altogether. I'm a professional when it comes to making mistakes.

* * *

Prologue

I follow the young man's light footsteps as he leads me down his mansion. His home is one akin to a fairytale castle. With long corridors, tall ceilings and extravagant paintings lining the stone walls, how such a young man (age 24 no less) is able to afford such an estate puzzles me. Had he inherited this place? I take note of witnessing no other relatives or housemates within my brief stay. I begin to wonder if he is the only being inhabiting the residence. I thus conclude his loneliness that I could now almost perfectly visualize.

We stop in front of the room nearing the end of the hall. He pulls a worn key from his trouser pocket and unlocks the door. It swings open with a groan and we step inside. He flicks the switch to a small chandelier fixated at the top center of the room and a dim light flickers on. It merges with the sunlight coming in from a tall window and gives the small library a cozy feel. There's a chair that looks as if it's nearing it's final stages and a fireplace adjacent to several filled bookcases that are lining the walls. The young man motioned me towards the first bookshelf on his left.

Putting a set of curious eyes on my face I see that those books look more aged than the others in the room.

"These books must be older than me." The lie naturally falls from my lips as I walk over to get a closer look.

He puts on a meaningless smile and takes a small step back, giving me room to explore.

I notice that these books are numbered in gold print in Roman numerals starting from 1337. I put on an act of confusion and pick one up that's within my reach labeled '1394'. While carefully nursing it I flip to a page at random.

The books handwritten and stunning, transforming the letters and words into an artist's masterpiece. Not a spot of ink or sign of uncertainty is to be seen. I begin to read and realization forms at the pit of my stomach.

This journal in my very hand is written over six centuries ago by the same man standing before me. I tried to hide my overwhelming emotions as I gently close the journal and return it to it's rightful place.

Unable to look him in the eye I stare at the floor and say, "You're older than me."

"By 302 years, three months and 10 days exactly, Mister Jones."


	2. One

These are bound to get longer, just... when I have more time... (Sorry for talking out of my ass).

Meanwhile, I think "Arrival of the Birds and Transformation" by The Cinematic Orchestra is quite the fitting song.

Oh and I apologize for not putting the journals in olde English, I know it's such a misfortune on your part.

* * *

Realization hit me and I hid this under years and years of mastering outwards appearances. I took a breath and calmly closed the journal and put it back in it's rightful place. I looked into the mans eyes and saw how tired they were, he has seen too much, I saw his need for rest.

Out of all the meaningful things that would have precisely fit this moment, I ask the first thing that came to my mind. "The journals, they should have deteriorated more than this."

"I replace them every decade or so."

"Wouldn't you have an easier time making these digital? It is the 21st century..."

His eye's scowled making me feel ignorant and young. Such a feeling I had lost centuries ago was brought back to me. I welcomed it. It made me feel remotely human again.

"I find both fear and enjoyment in having hard copies of my life. It gives me a visual on how much I've seen."

"And lived through."

"I wouldn't call it living. My life ended a long time ago." I noticed a brief solemn expression before it returned to the frequent expressionless face.

I hadn't understood what he meant at that moment, time was still moving and so were we. Things were changing, and after 398 years of living, I still have yet to have a day where I didn't learn anything.

I look up at the journal from the year 1337. "May I?" I ask. He nods.

I have the thought of myself prying this man. He's giving me permission to read through his whole life. All 700 years stand before me like a wall of truth. I doubted anything bad could happen from this situation.

I pull 1337 off of the shelf and take seat in the decaying chair. In one swift motion Kirkland leaves the room and I'm left alone to read to my hearts content.

I open to the first page and begin my journey.

_October 1337_

_My earliest memory was of famine. I couldn't have been over the little age of four, watching the rain drown out the crops on our land. My older brothers would speak of distant memories. Memories filled with bread and livestock and full bellies. I had four older brothers then._

_I was born with hunger in the pit of my stomach and it remained there. I remember Mother's belly growing larger along with my jealousy. Had she been eating more than the rest of us? It wasn't until a sibling of mine explained to me of the newborn's death did I realize that Mother had been pregnant. Mother's belly had a 5th brother for me, but god decided otherwise._

_"__God has turned against us, Arthur" was the first words I remember my father uttering to me, my mother's choking sobs in the background._

_It was the rain that did this, pushing wheat back into soil amongst my little brother's carcass. It was the rain, laughing at our sorrow and pain. I hadn't even known of my little sibling and he was already onto the next world. I hadn't fully understood death at the time, but I knew once you had it, you weren't coming back._


End file.
